Ingenious pain, Andrew Miller [little red riding hood ebook .txt] 📗

He reaches out over the heads of the crowd, exalted as a Methodist. 'Pass the boy up! Pass him to me.'

James is handed forward. A local butcher, dried blood black beneath his nails, lifts the boy on to the stage. 'There,' says Gummer, 'there now. This is a great day for you, Billy. A great day.'

James faces the crowd. He has never felt a moment's stage fright. Gummer's hand is on his shoulder. James looks down at the foolish open faces. Near the back of the booth, by the opening, he catches sight of a large wig, half a face, an intelligent eye, a collar and shoulder of good cloth. For a moment the eye holds him, probes him, then Gummer turns him and the act begins.

Gummer invites the butcher on to the stage to hold the boy steady. The butcher grins, pleased, self-conscious. Gummer flourishes the steel pin for the crowd to admire. He asks the butcher to touch its point. The butcher dabs the point with his finger. It draws a pearl of blood. The butcher frowns at his finger, then grins again and holds it up for the crowd. Gummer takes hold of James's fingers and turns the boy's hand palm up. For several seconds, as if wrestling with a tender conscience, he holds the needle poised above the taut skin of the boy's palm. Then he pricks it, the point of the needle making a tiny shallow wound. James screams and faints in the butcher's arms. The crowd bursts into excited chatter. Gummer waves his arms to silence them. He puts the pin on the table and lights the candle. Salts are waved under the boy's nose. He revives. The butcher pats his shoulder like a worried uncle then, at Gummer's request, seizes the boy in his arms. Taking hold this time of the boy's wrist.

Gummer quickly runs the flame over the delicate skin. James writhes in the butcher's grasp; he screams, howls, begs; he laughs. He faints again; he is revived. The candle is returned to the table.

Now the bottle containing the remedy is uncorked and held to the boy's lips. James takes in as little as he can. He knows the taste well enough; vinegar, laudanum, honey. The bottle is stoppered. The crowd scrutinises every movement. After only a few seconds the child's strength seems to return. He stands up strongly. It is amazing how little fear he shows. Gummer takes up the pin once more. The butcher makes ready to grab the boy but Gummer shakes his head. Again the point of the needle is held above the skin of the boy's palm and slowly, slowly, Gummer drives it through the flesh until a half-inch of steel appears through the back of James's hand. The butcher's jaw drops. It is a moment Gummer adores. There is not a mind in the place he does not now command. He withdraws the pin, wipes it on a white cloth and holds up the cloth like a bride's wedding-sheet. He fetches the candle and burns the boy's skin. The child does not so much as sigh.

Even before Gummer has extinguished the flame, the first voices are clamouring for the potion. James jumps down to rejoin Grace Boylan. Some of the crowd touch him, as if for good luck. Gummer gets down to business, dealing with several customers at a time -money from this one, change to another, orders from a third, smiling encouragement to a fourth. It lasts an hour. People who have not seen the show but see a steady stream of people emerge from the booth with bottles in their hands go in to buy for themselves. Something this popular must be good. With the last twenty bottles Gummer doubles the price. It is a gamble, but no one complains. The last bottle is bought by a gentleman with green eyes.

James and Grace have left the fair. They are sitting under a tree eating bread and cold bacon. It does not do to be seen too much.

As night falls they make their way back to the booth. The flaps of the entrance have been roped together except for an opening at the bottom through which, on hands and knees, James and the woman crawl into the silence of the booth. A servant, Adam Later, is sleeping under a sack. Gummer is sitting on the boxes. To his right the candle burns, throwing watery shadows over the canvas. Next to the candle is an ornate, long-barrelled pistol, cocked.

'Aha!' He beams at them, already a Httle drunk. 'The changeling and the tart! Come hither, boy. Claim your reward.'

James approaches. The blow knocks him backwards on to the trampled earth.

Says Gummer: 'Let that remind you to keep your amusement to yourself. Laughter, by God! We had trouble enough teaching you to scream.'

James stands, brushes the grass from his jacket. Gummer shakes his head. 'Alas, 'tis almost pointless to strike him. What a prodigy! What a very dangerous child. Come, I shall not hit you again.' He rests a hand on James's shoulder. For some seconds they gaze into each other's eyes. 'Sleep,' says Gummer. 'Mistress Boylan and I shall finish the bottle.' He draws a watch from his pocket. 'The pair of you leave two hours before sunrise. We meet at Lavington.'

Says Grace: 'We shall settle accounts first, mind.'

Gummer nods. 'You shall have gold, dear Grace. Gold and silver.'

'And shall I?' James is standing just beyond the candle's first ring of light.

'The boy gives me the creeps,' says Grace, helping herself to the bottle. Gummer shrugs. 'You do not need to love him. He, after all, could no more love you than this could.' He taps the barrel of the gun.

'Ay,' says Grace. 'God forbid he should ever grow to manhood.'

James lies awake beneath his coat for an hour, listening to the hum of their voices. Figures pass by the booth, some singing snatches of song in drunken voices, some quarrelling; a dog sets up